<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Hunted (Contrast) by blindtaleteller</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262928">Hunted (Contrast)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindtaleteller/pseuds/blindtaleteller'>blindtaleteller</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Platovember Prompts 2020 [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acceptance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Coping, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Gen, Healing, Lokiverse - Freeform, Mixology (Lokiverse), Platovember 2020, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safe Haven, Trauma, conjoined AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:29:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindtaleteller/pseuds/blindtaleteller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is stalked across the world for weeks, by a very frighteningly fast pursuer and his 'hunting dog': and dragged into a whole other life and circumstance with the intention to have him serve something with much more purpose than Hydra...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>platonic - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Platovember Prompts 2020 [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Loki, Platonic Relationships, Prompted Writing</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hunted (Contrast)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Door/Universe 5's Bucky Barnes (aka Cub) who, if you've read GROUNDED to date and just as a start, you're likely able to not only guess but know how he got there. In Universe 5, Barnes went largely unnoticed thanks to the fact that Loki's regime discovered and went after Hydra long before the heli-carrier plans were even entirely finished. Meaning, he wasn't activated to deal with Fury, as in Canon storyline: but was activated after the initial cleansing of Shield instead. Wanda and Pietro were likewise found far sooner; and unlike the events of Ultron; Peitro survived as a result. At this stage, the twins are about fifteen. (They were sixteen to seventeen, in Age of Ultron. This is why a year later, Clint's line picking her up in Civil War is 'if you wanna mope, go to high school.')</p><p>DAMAGED (D5) is not even aware of Bucky's survival until Gin visits GROUNDED's universe 8 in fact; during the aftermath of their 'Civil War' period. And, after a few questions exchanged; decides to use meeting and bonding with Wolfkin in his own home universe among Loke's trusted to root out and collect his own Barnes, before Steve Rogers or the Avengers not already with him can catch hold of his universe's Barnes. If you want to see how this comes about? I'd suggest reading Book Two of Mixology (Lokiverse;) as Barnes' story in D5, actually starts in D8 between the arcs in that story..</p><p>This particular piece catches up with them a few weeks after Cub's capture, while he is still adjusting to and trying to claim not only a life outside of Hydra; but a trying to find his place in the palace in Chicago: when there's -already- one Bucky Barnes --from another Universe mind you-- already very much settling into a place at their Loki's side..</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="userstuff">
  <ul>
<li>IDENTIFY LOCATION: CUB - INTER-DIMENSIONAL IDENTIFICATION CONFIRMED : HVRA0616-9H-05</li>
<li>---INTER-UNIVERSAL DOORWAY ENTRY POINT H5 : OBSERVATIONAL STATUS - TVA INTERFERENCE: <em>NOT DETECTED</em>
</li>
<li>----MIDGARD NORTHERN HEMISPHERE : NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT : METROPOLITAN AREA DETECTED - VISITATION CAUTIONS <em>RECOMMENDED</em> : CHICAGO, ILLINIOS</li>
<li>------KNOWN DOMESTIC TIME VARIANCE : 6:34 AM US CST</li>
<li>--DRAGON'S TEETH SECURITY (LEVEL SEVEN) CURRENTLY ENGAGED.</li>
<li>---!!UNKNOWN PSYONIC DISTURBANCE DETECTED!!-!!CONTACT SUBJECT WITH EXTREME CAUTION!!</li>
</ul>
</div><p> </p>
<h2 class="title heading">
  <strong> <span class="u">+}=-hunted-={+</span> </strong>
</h2><p> </p><p>   Wet. And cold. White and grey and pale to deep blues. Blacks; or rather almost blacks. The shine of moisture in everything;<em> everything,</em> the light touched. Even where it was taken for granted. Where the frost was matted the surface was so fine; or clear and unnoticed unless he put a piece of skin to a surface and it fogged up or visibly melted. A thin skin of cold for early winter in the dark. Not the dirty brown everything where he'd truly seen that shadow first. Where that slim, light-swallowing black on black on more black in contrasting, mean shades had first melted coiling up and not down out of the other shadows. The voice, a liquid rasp of more shade. Dark shadow, alive and breathing and fast. Too fast.</p><p>   Talons, fangs, the slide of scale and whisper of cloth, softened leather that didn't squeak. A blur of shadow even standing still there, staring at him without eyes.</p><p>         <em>Just lines.</em> Silence and sharp things otherwise. The perfect predator.</p><p>               Until that voice. Like a bubble in molasses under a low heat.  Thick and sticking inside his ears at the low, even rumble. Cooler on the outside and expanding with a silky even sheen; searing heat underneath pushing at those edges, the rumble-rasp marking the near film clouding searingly dangerous steam just waiting to burst underneath it. The kind that could blind him or send his skin sliding free. Cook the meat underneath to fall away from his bones, ready to be sucked up and swallowed whole, sliding down his throat piece after piece til there was nothing left of either of them stuck behind his prickled eye sockets.</p><p>                  <em>  'There you are.'</em></p><p>        No eyes, but the shape of them. No mouth, but he could barely make out it's curve; the same kind of not-smile that other, uncontrolled half of the Soldier could remember seeing in a museum. Where? Europe? Yes. Steve knew the painter. You know the painter too because of that. Da Vinci. <em>Mona Lisa?</em> Pretty at a glance. But haunting, frightening; if you looked long enough at it. All shining dead eyes that never looked away, secrets that followed you to the edge of the bed and crept slinking back to wait in between the sheets in the tiny cracks of spaces between cotton and satin and wool too. Everywhere. No matter where he went.</p><p>           <em>Everywhere; always following. Don't sleep too much, Barnes.</em></p><p>        Pines instead of palm trees. Snow and mountain scrub instead of dust and sandstone flats.</p><p>                 <em>'So slippery.'</em></p><p>     But still running from the stamp. Not a stamp though was it?</p><p>Weeks ago on the island. Banana trees and warm, moist winds pushing at the leaves, sending the smell around better than the smell of him; copper and candy. Old spilled blood and caramel-corn. The chopper he'd stolen, so close; when the searchlights had turned their way and he'd seen them; not stamped. Angry scratches ripped through the surface of his metal face. Reflective between the black slopes of that not-face like they were new when he knew they weren't. Two little knives for every finger; and the thumbs too. Hidden in the overlap, the curves from the turning flats of where fingernails should be. Talons, fangs. Hooking for his skin and skittering across the metal of his stronger, heavier arm. The mark of that God he didn't know. But even the Soldier knew he was bad.</p><p>     Learned to be afraid. Because, fast; faster than either of us. And sharp. Stinging red trails when that good arm was caught and yanked on and added <em>new</em> blood to the popcorn and caramel.</p><p>  Shots from the tower that divided them. The guard that tapped him with their bumper. Tapped,  because it folded around his hips. Tapped, because the claws came up to catch them when they were out the windshield from the lack of pause or motion when they'd run into him blind from the brush instead of a tree. Looking back; a tree there, would have bowed or broken. A tree wouldn't have hissed, or growled. Or knocked them together at the heads before they could see him like he had, to make them limp while he was scrambling in and starting up the chopper.</p><p> </p><p>       <em> 'Always running away.'</em></p><p> </p><p> The out of place sunset glow. Sparks dancing, lashing out in a golden-orange line then; adding the dim fade of light to the snow now. Barnes, or he; needed to get down into the valley. Where it was greener and the tarmac marked the peppering of other metal things his form and especially his arm could blend in with. His mitt was gone too. The joint was starting to ache after baiting the shadow up here. Two dead, or dying in the watch point up the slope. He knew he hadn't been fast enough. Their blood was still warm, but they weren't a good enough distraction. Too far away to throw into the mouth of the dragon chasing him. Bullet in the chamber already. Out of grenades. He'd snapped one knife, prying those fanged claws off his false wrist already.</p><p>      Solid steel just turned and broken like a thin piece of balsa wood when he'd slapped the heel of his palm. Tried a backhand Buchanan saw coming before the Soldier had. Went with it and ducked; let go rolling right over the edge of the bluff. Right leg still hurt? But that wasn't going to get him eaten. Pain was for the living same as pleasure, and he wasn't going to get dead just because he let that stop him or slow him down.</p><p>         <em>'Barnes.'</em> not a whisper but it felt like one was sliding around his neck hearing it. They weren't even there yet and he could almost feel the fangs tickling at his throat. <em>Not there!</em> But close.. so close it stopped his breath. Made him stiff close against the rippled bark next to him, blocking the shine of his metal arm without the mitt. Cold and needing to refocus past the hard fast beat of his heart thundering in his ears; re-grip the pump even though he was out of grenades. Too much longer and dawn would light up the snow like a prism. And he would be the other dark flaw obvious in the light.</p><p> </p><p>  Not breathing was a mistake. It was a mistake, because the serpent stalking him heard it when he was forced to took the first in. <em>'..you are starting to annoy me.'</em> wasn't a good sign either.</p><p>      The bolt, just a half a moment before the golden light he didn't know was bursting, snapping in across and around the pine now behind him. Half sliding, making for the valley; making hard and heavy and not caring yet with the crunch and slip of snow and ice under his boots between the high poles of pines and deep shift of needles under them. Don't look back, don't stop. Death is following. He couldn't hear him but he knew. Silent even running, sliding over the snow like the reptile he was; all flowing ink and poison and probably catching up.</p><p>           The not-knife embedded in the tree just seconds ahead of him to his right. No, turn that way.</p><p>   Almost skidding in the running turn, left hand screeching against stone almost a yard from it when he saw the edge of the next cut of a slope: just barely. Heard the retrieval, the thunk and thump tearing the thing from the bark again, in passing. Right on his heels!</p><p>   What is that?</p><p>         Claws, fangs almost catching him on the jump.. the crumple further out; the dragon expecting him to jump for distance. He hadn't seen it; the slope and rubbed-smooth track: the space between the trees to his right. The severity of it. Long little curve of a wood sled the Soldier was thumping into and onto, and falling back shoulders first to be missed again when the momentum started the jolt forward out of the little stick in the ice and snow it had been left in. The dark sky, contrasting with a whip of light that just barely missed his nose in the fall, and faded out against the clouds and thank god, new snow coming down in thick white clumps whipping by as the sled shunted and skipped and whipped down the slope. More cover, in that.</p><p>      Except now he could hear him, even over the grind of the wood catching the dragged-in track.<strong> THUMP.</strong></p><p>Not always; but like a giant's footsteps over it all instead. Reload! Reload now while you can! <strong>THUMP.</strong></p><p>      Grenades, and a cleaner clip because Barnes had panicked worse than you. <strong>THUMP. </strong></p><p>Because he'd wasted half a clip in dead shadow trying to flush out the living one. Was the leg broken? <strong>THUMP.</strong></p><p>       Hard, climbing right stopped him from checking mid-reach to see if bone was sticking anywhere god didn't intend. <strong>THUMP.</strong></p><p>How far did the track go? He couldn't remember.. didn't recall just then, if he had seen the end of it.</p><p>     <em>Shit.</em></p><p>     <strong><em>      THUMP!</em></strong></p><p>The scratch on the wood was getting louder too.<em><strong> Less, of a THUMP.</strong></em> Not enough snow. Well this is a <em>bad time</em> for the snow to start to run out; but it <em>did mean</em> he was almost into the valley. Down in the hills, where the cold thinned out. Jumbled around in the sled like a lone stick in a half-jar though. No hearing the dragon again, and that was terrifying. The same cover for Barnes, was cover for him. Then again everything was cover for that creature. Would he even be able to see him at all if he looked, when they got down there?</p><p>     He didn't think so. But there were people. And he always slowed down for people, <em>didn't he.</em></p><p>              Doesn't want them hurt. Only hunting us. Seen it before. Use that again, while it still works.</p><p>      The first roof passed. The bump of a curve and Barnes lifted his head for the Soldier, see-sawing in the sharp fear they shouldn't have but always came ahead of the dark dragon. Gave him a look. Small town, only one paved road and he was sliding to a slow. Cock the pump, aim as he brought his head down. Fire, to the left. Boom, and real fire. Incendiary. Right side next. Neighbors kiddie corner in the pre-dawn hours. They wouldn't wake up fast enough. He'd have to stop wouldn't he? Pause?</p><p>           You know it'll be pause. He never <em>stops.</em></p><p>  But that was enough. Third grenade let off at a front door as he rolled up in the sled and ended up running faster than it at this point; truly the last one. Instant rush of flames behind him. Sharp left at the intersection. Cop at the corner with his windows frosted over was too shocked to do anything. The peripheral view was enough reason to know why. He caught sight of it again; black on black on black and moving, paused between the places the Soldier and Barnes had let them off. Different men in the same skin see-sawing between weak and survivor attached to a metal arm and fear. The need to escape, to get more space between them while he was at the fires and spitting more black at the houses he'd thrown the incendiaries at.</p><p>     So close.. the massive gap where there were no trees, where he knew the tarmac was: down the next gradual slope past the houses on the other side of town.</p><p>           If you could call it a town. One more intersection; people were getting around. Look back, just once. Two blocks back, even in the dim lighting of the all of two streetlamps he saw that shade burst out of fire from the third story window. No slowing, like a thrown smoking stone, someone set on the pavement? And he was coming again; not even a second to pause there when he felt the lack of eyes latch onto him. Run, and keep running. So fast.. too fast. Claws and liquid smoke and ash and silk like a slithering shiny-matte rocket aimed right at his chest from that distance. Not far enough! There was the partner now, too much like looking in a mirror and oh god!  He was too close!</p><p>There was black and green and little touches of gold in the seams where he was just metal and blood in the shape of the star stamped into his false, stronger arm. Wolf's teeth where there should be a place to breathe, because that was his dog and he knew it! <em>Teeth! In his <strong>eyes!</strong></em></p><p>
  <em> <strong>                                 RUN!!</strong> </em>
</p><p>            " Bucky! <em>Wake <strong>up!</strong></em> " came with the slap across his face and he rolled, breath still hard from the run. Not understanding just yet, not awake enough when his fingers closed on her throat and pushed the rest of her neck into the pillows with the flip. Gasping for air, pulling. He didn't see her yet. It was the feel, the comforters that came in first. And the air, so different.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                                      Pillows..? Why is it so warm..<br/>
</em>
</p><p> </p><p>   And Barnes was <em>--thank god she's getting quicker about it--</em> flung and bouncing briefly off the ceiling, room filled with red as it fully registered. <em>Dreams.</em> The press of pressure that didn't need hands but had her mind in it instead. A red mist tat was fine, and a light all of it's own that almost matched her hair. Wanda; that was Wanda staring up at him. Rubbing her throat where he'd shamefully, probably bruised it. He'd been dreaming again. At least she hadn't hesitated to pin him to the ceiling this time. Had him pressed in an awkward spread against the corner above his own door like he was pinned to a half-folded cross.</p><p>    " <em>...should have taken my arm..</em> " was still an earnest belief sometimes, as his heart calmed faster than his breaths; and her eyes changed hearing it. They always changed. Pity and apologies, not needed: instantly regretting saying it out loud even if it was true. Understanding  pouring out of pretty blue eyes that made him ache with the purse of her lips, because she knew. And because he <em>had</em> said it before. " ...I'm sorry, Wanda. " flat but earnest. He wished she would stop coming in here though. Four times in two weeks. Under, two weeks. It made him feel small, even if he didn't dare say it out loud to make it more real than it was in his already messed up head.</p><p>      The inevitable rush of the door being kicked the rest of the way in and open. Silvery curls first, beneath him; and she was quicker about saying it this time too. " I'm fine. " Still fast even at the hobble with the cast; still faster even than the dragon that stepped in behind him. The drone and the alpha, his wolf right behind and beside him. " He was dreaming again; I got too close, but.. he didn't hurt me. " Those ice blue eyes at the graceful turn up and around, to pin him far more evenly to the ceiling. He had a name, and Buck had been taught it. He just... needed to get used to the idea, wrap his head around the fact he shouldn't be running from him any more. Not when the not-face was there.</p><p>        And not especially now, when it wasn't, and Loki's blue eyes were on him like that. It was actually different from the painting. He hadn't looked long enough to notice, but since they'd caught him he'd found it out.</p><p>That steady, unrelenting gaze had more than ice in it. Something better than steel to hide behind. A place he'd been offered. A trust he'd been offered. Something he saw reflected in the one next to him, a year maybe more older and actually showing it with the face that looked just like Barnes'. Was, Bucky Barnes; from another time and place. So it folded in on him when he looked long enough, and saw the question without a word passing over Loki's lips. And Bucky meant it, so did the other him when he managed the words to say it. " ..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.. I know you want better. " and the blur to his vision when he heard the sigh. " You should've taken my arm.. "</p><p>      " Pointless, that. Bring him down, sweetling. " Still silk and shadow in his voice. Still sharp things. But before and in his dreams still he'd missed the contrast of the context. The difference between what fear made him see when those fingers had brushed him before, and the truth behind the action he could feel now as Wanda let him down in jerky spurts and the King caught hold of Buck himself halfway. Regardless of the fact his mirror was right there, watching him and ready. Pietro was right there again too, to help them, after his sister waved him off; extra guilt to the care they took taking him in hand.</p><p>    Broken leg; his fault. Marks around Wanda's neck from the same hand, too.</p><p>  He hadn't earned the lack of anger for any of it.</p><p>      And both of them knew it. They should be in a cell.</p><p>             Not in a bedroom. Not sleeping comfortably enough to really dream.</p><p>                      Maybe that's why he did.</p><p>        Punishment. Justice. Karma. When he wanted and was alive enough to go after revenge, and shouldn't be.</p><p>  The dragon's keen steel eyes slipping from one to the other to the next, assessing the hatchlings and cub between the dark grey walls of his room made darker by the fact it was night time. He heard Natalia's voice calling from down the hall, knew the spike of danger that set off just hearing it by feel. That still didn't make much sense to him, but he knew that's what it was. She was on the other side of those eyes. Outside the safety of his claws and the protection of his wolf's fangs. " Are you, all right; Barnes? " still brought a flex of annoyance to his elder twin with the gentled edge. The affection he didn't deserve.</p><p>        " ..I'm fine your Majesty. Awake, now. " he had to look away the same between the two adults in the room. Shame wouldn't let him keep that offered shield for long, not when it came to this. Everything else maybe. But not this. " I'll.. try to remember to bar my door in the future. " Was about the best he could do as the sleep fully washed away; because, they'd had this conversation. And Barnes knew they were right. Clint Barton had already proven, they were right; when he'd infiltrated the tower: and Bucky had been the one to find him then. Almost lost that fight; almost gotten Pietro shot, before the noise had brought around the one person who had been able to stop him, without harm being a factor.</p><p>              " My children aren't so weak as all that, Barnes. " had his eyes snapping back again; he hadn't meant that as an insult. " There are very few priorities in the Palace that are. " and the small snort, the ruffle to his hair before he was on his way out again with Barnes' shirtless double right behind him. He noticed there was no suit shirt only then, under the King's jacket; no tie. He'd likely pulled them at a jump right out of bed down the hall. " Only start worrying about it should Anthony start coming this way in the middle of the night. Which.. you and I both know he will never, do. Not in the flesh, in any case. "</p><p>         " Comparatively...? " because that thought suddenly had merit, and was worth pausing him with by speaking up. " ...maybe the First Consort, should be the only other person with clearance to open my door during sleeping hours; your Majesty. " the raise of brow, and the narrowing of his eyes before Bucky realized how that sounded; and was pretty sure his face was bloodless before he corrected it the way he had meant it. " I ..can't strangle a hologram, your Majesty. " instantly calming his brief bristle of chilly temper.</p><p>         "<em> Ah.</em> " and " <strong><em>True.</em></strong> " had him breathing easier under the steel gaze again as it warmed ever so slightly. Settling an entirely different kind of fear; the fear of disappointing him. " The worst you would be able to do is flick a drone projecting it across the room.<em> Good call,</em> Barnes. " and he bowed his head, trying to ignore the rare kind of stare at the top of it the other Barnes was giving him " You would think,<strong><em> I</em></strong> would have thought of that first.. " coming from the King on his way back to his own hall around the corner, had him looking up again.</p><p>               " Get a shirt on, Cub! " had him turning for his door at the nickname with the turn from his own double, Wolfkin; before the king turned with a final toss of " We'll discuss it with the <em>rest</em> of the family over breakfast. " from Loki followed it around the corner behind him.</p><p>     He didn't mind the nick-name. It was accurate; especially by comparison to the silvery, black and green armed man who looked just like him by the same name. Wearing almost the same face. A him from another universe; who he owed the life ahead of him to, just as much as the King who had recruited Wolfkin from that place just to find him, chase him down. Bring him here. And offer him an undeserving place in his home; sleeping in a room across from one of his precious treasures: his adopted children, and next to the other.</p><p>    Wolf was further along than he was. If he had ever had an episode, even in his dreams on their world? Cub had never seen, or heard about it.</p><p>  Orders were easy, and Wolfkin was enough like him that he knew that, though. Knew what tone to use. A comfortable go-between. The first real conscious shift down into who he was trying, aiming to be now that he had the choice of a future. An actual, future; as something other than a tool, or a weapon. Not that he minded being either, if he was still useful. Barnes wanted to be useful, especially for the King. He had too much to make up for, to want to be much else.</p><p>   Even if a lot more than that was, being offered: he wasn't sure he should be trusted with much else. Wasn't sure he should have been trusted with where he was as it is. But that was what Loki wanted so here he was. The King almost always got what he wanted. As it should be.</p><p>      Warm and dry. The new shirt. The one Peitro got him, with that word across his chest in white he liked to tease him with in reminder of how he'd gotten his cast. Purple, and brighter than he thought he would have liked otherwise. Grey walls, or almost grey. Behind him and around him and never quite the same shade when you moved through the room. But that was the nature of the space. Always changing, and he was comfortable in it. Like a shimmering wool sock in stone and silver-polished steel.</p><p>     Home, already. Pretty and welcoming, like a near-shining stone still in the river, calling. Just waiting to be picked up when he woke, but perfect where it was; and duller he knew; if he ever decided to try and pull it out. Smiles waiting for him, and a thick pat on the back out in the grey hall. The challenge of a race to the commons in the shiny black halls the younger man was trying to get used to being slow about by his standards.</p><p>       The tease and grin and laugh when Wanda got there first too. The only time she could beat him anywhere on two legs, she said.</p><p>Little lights, not hiding between the folds of the shadow. Protected by it. By the depth of the contrast he hid behind his fangs, and under his wings. Starlight, tucked between velvet and hard steel scales and the tuck of his coils.</p><p>   Bucky didn't want to be one of those though. Not forever, and not for long; while the shards of what Jame Buchanan Barnes was were still coming together.</p><p>         He'd rather become <em>another part</em> of that shadow. Another hard, sharp scale. To cut, and to guard.</p><p> He'd rather repay his debts, than be hunted by them in his own mind forever.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>